A Spoonful of Sugar
by Tiger Girl1
Summary: From Lady to beggar to governess... The colorful and varied background of the enigmatic and magical Mary Poppins in turn-of-the-century England
1. Bert Hanover

Mary hurried along the narrow street on the outskirts of London, her thoughts still mostly on the discussion she had recently been engaged in. The sounds of late Victorian London surrounded her; the clopping of horses hoofs on the cobble-stone street, patterers crying out their news, street vendors hawking their wares. 

"Chim-chiminee 

_Chim-chiminee_

_Chim chim charee!"_

At first the singing was just another noise to serve as background for her slightly troubled thoughts.

_"A sweep is as lucky_

_As lucky can be!"_

But what an odd, nonsense sort of song! Roused from her musings, Mary turned her head. Across the street from her was the singer, grinning at a man selling pastries.

_"Chim-chiminee_

_Chim-chiminee_

_Chim chim charoo!"_

The sooty young chimney-sweep winked at her, then clasped the hand of a pleasant-faced common woman walking on his side of the narrow road.

_"Good luck will rub off _

_When I shakes 'ands wif you!"_

Mary laughed in spite of herself as the woman walked by him, a broad grin on her plain, generous face. The lad heard her laugh and turned to look at her. He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively as he skipped along, matching Mary's pace from across the street; his shoes keeping time to his song.

"Or blow me a kiss…" Mary knew she should be horrified and offended at the words, which were obviously meant for her, but his cheery demeanor was contagious. Another giggle escaped her lips as she looked around quickly. Assured that no one was watching her, she raised her kid-gloved hand to her lips and sent a quick kiss across the road to the boy. He looked surprised and delighted, but continued without missing a beat. 

_"…And that's lucky too!"_

Mary stopped and watched, fascinated, as the boy began an elaborate dance, punctured by the clapping of the heels of his boots on the pavement. When he ended with a flourish, she forgot herself, clapped involuntarily and ran across the road to stand before him. 

"So I will have good luck now, will I?" she said mischievously, smiling up at the boy who was only a little taller than she was.

He was flushed and panting and grinning like an idiot, but none of this stopped him from replying cheekily, "You'd 'ave even more good luck if you'd shake 'ands wif me an' tell me yer name!"

She flushed a little and raised her hand halfway, but then hesitated, aware of the dreadful impropriety of this entire conversation.

"Come on now!" he said entreatingly. "It's awful good luck to shake 'ands wif a chimney-sweep!"

She gave in graciously, surrendering her white-gloved hand to his rough, soot-streaked one. He gave it a hearty shake, then, as if mindful of the honor conferred, he bowed over it as gracefully as any lord and brushed the top of her fingers with his lips. "It's an 'onor and a pleasure, Miss – " his voice paused questioningly.

"Ashworth," she said, slipping her hand out of his hastily. Really, what on earth was she thinking? "Mary Ashworth. Now, if you'll pardon me, I really must be going."

"O' course," he nodded understandingly. "Wouldn't do your reputation no good to be seen standin' an' talkin' wif the likes o' me! Good day, Miss."

She smiled primly and nodded. "Good day." She turned away and crossed the street, turning her quick steps toward her home.

"Oh, Miss Ashworth!" the boy's voice sounded behind her. She hesitated, her steps slowing. She shouldn't respond. She should not. What would it look like for her to turn at the summons of a street child like that?

"Miss Ashworth!" She stopped and turned, almost against her will, and favored him with an exasperated glare that softened into a reluctant half-smile at the sight of his eager, cheery face. Oh, well. After all it might be worse to let him keep bleating her name halfway across the city like a sheep! 

"What is it?" she called back.

"If you ever need yer chimney swept," he called, tipping his battered felt cap for all the world as if it were a gentleman's top hat. "Just you ask fer me! Bert 'anover at yer service!"

She nodded and waved and turned away quickly, aware that the street was busier now, and that people were beginning to stare. As she walked swiftly to the gate of the Ashworth mansion, standing proudly over all the other houses in the square, Mary could hear the faint clap of boots on pavement as the young man danced away.

"Chim-chiminee 

_chim-chiminee_

_    Chim chim charoo…"_

She suppressed another errant giggle, and hurried inside.


	2. Voi che sapete

"Voi che sapete

che cosa è amor…"

Mary Ashworth accompanied herself on the piano as she sang the aria, her long, graceful white fingers dancing lightly over the keys. She was a tall, slender girl of fifteen. Her costume was singularly inappropriate for her occupation. She wore a dark blue woolen walking suit, her high-cheekboned face was flushed, her gloves sat next to her on the bench, and her funny umbrella with the parrot handle leaned against the piano, as if she had just come in from outdoors and had commenced practicing without pausing to change her outfit. 

_"Donne vedete_

_s'io l'ho nel cor._

_Quello ch'io provo_

_vi ridirò…"_

The eldest daughter of Lord Ashworth continued through the song rather mechanically, as if she was hardly aware of what she was doing. Her dark, delicate eyebrows were contracted in a slightly absent frown, and her striking blue eyes were narrowed thoughtfully.

_"…è per me nuovo,_

_capir nol so…"_

The slender fingers seemed to trip over themselves, and a sour note startled the young singer out of her thoughts. The handle of her umbrella let out a squawk of protest, and Mary laughed and shook her head at it, recognizing ruefully that she was not concentrating on her practice.

"Hush," she whispered to the parrot. "You'll get me into trouble." The umbrella handle blinked once at her before subsiding into its usual wooden immobility. Mary's fingers, left to their own devices, twisted the melody of the aria into a lilting dance tune. Thus freed from its enforced concentration on the music, her mind returned to its earlier contemplation.

"I saw you leaving by the back gate this morning." The slightly accusatory words were the first intimation of the presence of another besides herself in the room. Mary checked her startlement and continued to play, refusing to appear surprised by the sudden announcement.

"Father isn't going to be happy when he hears that you've been to visit Mrs. Gibson again."

Fingers still skipping lightly over the ivory keys, Mary turned her head toward the doorway to fix her younger sister with a level stare. "Father," she said deliberately, "will not hear anything of it if you don't see fit to tell him."

Ellen Ashworth smiled, appearing completely unaffected by her sister's keen gaze. "He will guess, if he comes in here and finds you still in your walking suit."

"I'll be changed for tea before he comes home," Mary said airily, turning back to the keyboard.

"What on earth are you playing?" Ellen demanded.

Mary looked down at the piano keys and gave a startled little laugh, only then recognizing the tune her fingers had chosen while her mind had been busy. Giving her sister a whimsical smile, she began singing:

"Chim-chiminee 

_Chim-chiminee_

_Chim chim charee!_

_A sweep is as lucky_

_As lucky can be!"_

 "What utter nonsense!" Ellen laughed. "Where did you learn _that_?"

"From a young man I met on my way home this afternoon," Mary answered.

"Chim-chiminee 

_Chim-chiminee_

_Chim chim charoo!_

_Good luck will rub off_

When I shake hands with you!" 

"Well, who was he?" her sister demanded. "Was he anyone of any importance? Was he handsome? Will he come calling?"

Mary only smiled her enigmatic smile and continued playing.

_"Or blow me a kiss,_

_and that's lucky too!"_

_"Mary!"_ Ellen reached over her sister's shoulders, grasped her hands, and lifted them off the keyboard, laughing. "_Who was he?_"

"No one of any importance whatsoever," Mary said rather severely, swiveling around on the piano stool to stare quellingly into her little sister's eagerly shining eyes. "Likely I'll never see him again."

Ellen playfully knelt down at her sister's knee, as she used to do when she was very young, to beg her for a story. Their clasped hands dropped into the older girl's lap. "Tell me about him."

Mary shook her head in resignation. Then her eyes took on a faraway look as she said, "He was just a chimney-sweep. Not much older than you. Dirty and ragged and common. But the way he danced down the street, you'd have thought he was a prince with the whole world at his feet…"

Ellen listened, entranced.

And thus the girls' father found them when he came home to tea.


End file.
